


Levity

by ghostofadrunkensailor (animejunkie12)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fellatio, Finger Sucking, M/M, blowjob, dick sucking, passive-aggressive kitchen cleaning, they have twinkies in the future and i think thats beautiful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animejunkie12/pseuds/ghostofadrunkensailor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons can't stand Grif, and it only gets worse for him (but better for us!).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Didn't your mom teach you not to waste food?

**Author's Note:**

> I know this one is short, but I just want to put something out there before posting more content. I'd like to make this a series that basically just lets me revel in my first RvB OTP. Eventually this will get more ~saucy~ and chapters should be longer, just bear with me and my self-indulgence.  
> This is going to be a fun Thanksgiving Break.

Even from their first meeting, Simmons knew one thing right away about Grif.

He was fucking annoying.

It didn’t take long at all for Simmons to dislike Grif. This lazy corner-cutting ass who snarked his way through Sarge’s briefing and paraded around the base without pants the very next day. He couldn’t say it made his blood boil, but setting off even one of Simmon’s pet peeves was enough to warrant cold glares and passive aggression. And with passive aggression and a tendency to focus all frustration on one target, everything Grif touched turned to filth. That went double for the fridge. It wasn’t that well kept in the first placed, with old war rations and empty strawberry yoohoos. But it was a train wreck after that prick in orange armor swept in, or more like a train wreck sucked into a tornado that had caught on fire in the middle of a lightning-snow storm. In a way, that could describe every way about Grif.

It almost explained what happened about three weeks after Grif had been stationed at Red Base, but not entirely.

Simmons had gotten a little too aggressive and a little less passive, and had started cleaning out the fridge. His current (and favorite) method of cleaning was more of organizing, but taking special care to smush junk food against the sides and corners of the fridge. Reveling in the little rebellion of malformed twinkies and chips with more crumbs, he didn’t notice someone approaching the kitchen.

“Hey, Captain Someone-pissed-in-my-cornflakes, what’s with the racket? A man needs his sleep.”

Simmons rolled his eyes and glared and the still-messy fridge. “Cleaning up. Someone around here has to do it.”

“Well, when you’re done acting like a passive-aggressive parent I wanted to talk to you- Hey! What do you think you’re touching?”

Simmons smirked, and turned, twinkie in hand. “I’m just getting rid of the mess. Junk needs to be cleared out, or have you never cleaned anything in your life?”

“Aw, come on, I paid good money from the base for that junk.”

“You used our budget for this shit?!” He clenched his jaw and fists, and then drew back in disgust at the completely squashed twinkie, covering a few fingers. He sighed through his nose. “Great.”

Simmons moved to the sink.

“Hey, you're just gonna throw that away?” Grif shuffled next to Simmons.

“Are you kidding me? Tell me you're kidding me.”

Grif grabbed the hand, brought it close. Simmons could swear he could hear him snicker. Bringing it closer to him, he said “Let me help you with that.”

Confusion replaced anger as Grif took a small lick at the cream on the tip of Simmons finger. Pages and pages of Simmons personal journals would go on to explain why Simmons didn’t draw back, didn’t say anything as Grif pressed his tongue on his middle finger and slowly licked down. He continued onto another finger, licking up before-

Simmons knew he shouldn’t have gasped when Grif lightly sucked on the top of both fingers. Knew he could have said something when Grif let his tongue move between both fingers and moved his soft lips on his knuckles. What easily was a few minutes felt like hours until Grif’s mouth slid off of Simmons pruned fingertips. Before Simmons could even draw a breath, Grif was gone into the hallway, practically striding as Simmons stared dumbfounded at his hand.  
Still confused and stricken silent, Simmons moved the rest of the food back into where they should be and left the base for some air.

It would be some time before Simmons glared at Grif, but that train wreck natural disaster extraordinaire would be giving him more problems than Simmons even realized.


	2. The Key To Getting The Person Of Your Dreams Is Indie Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, at least Simmons tried this time. Also, Grif is a giant loverboy but that comes as no surprise to anyone.

That isn’t to say Simmons lets Grif off the hook because that’s not true at all. Nope, totally wrong, Grif just lazes about and sleeps with crumbs on his chest in the jeep because Simmons disapprovals don’t enter his thick skull. That thick skull, covered in even more thick, dark hair that Simmons couldn’t help but be envious of.

At least, he thought what he felt was envy.

Simmons had been left confused in that kitchen, forced to deal not just with a wet hand but scattered thoughts. It was disorienting in a way, annoying in another, but what Simmons couldn’t admit to himself was how he felt after Grif had sauntered away. How unstable he was, how hot his body felt. At this point, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to brush it off or take a cold shower. So he did both, and neither helped.

The bitterness he felt still remained, despite what happened. It was hard not to get irritated at him. He was pretty sure his behaviour had gotten more lethargic, and the death threats that Sarge had started to use were about as useful as Simmons trying to even dust the kitchen anymore.

It was one of his louder days, and Simmons rubbed his temple as he tried to fix Sarge’s newest plan to invade blue base (this one involved bravery, a full frontal assault, and ‘shouting insults at the blues until they become so demoralized that they give the base to us!’).

There was that music again. Even if Simmons tried to focus on the papers laid out in front of him, that music moved to the front of his brain and demanded his attention, like a terrible smell. It was much like the ones Grif seemed to emanate after 5 weeks of not showering. Simmons huffed, still not sure if Grif did that out of spite towards his position in the army or because he truly didn't give a shit. Either way, his quest was turning from disgusting to slightly impressive. Not that Simmons would ever be impressed by something , anything Grif does.

Nonetheless, the music pushed itself past his locked door and replaced the silence in his room. That enough made Simmons irritated, even if the music was mellow and not the thrash rock metal he had expected from a layabout who took pride in hoarding bags of cheetos. It seemed childish to put in earplugs, and with Donut's encouragement of "character" and "bringing about our true selves, baring our beings to each other and coming together", Simmons didn't care what he wanted as long as he could get out of the conversation as fast as possible.

So, being that Simmons was feeling more like a jackass than usual, he decided to skip the plan renovations and left the room to follow the music. Mellow indeed, but also rhythmic, Simmons couldn't deny that it was sort of a comforting tune. He entered the base's (now claimed by Grif) living space. Grif laid there (no surprise), dark hair tossed and thrown about as he stared at the ceiling.

"Can't sleep?"

He didn't move, it was almost like he was in some sort of sugar or junk food coma. Simmons picked up an empty container of oreos and sighed. "You can't even move yourself to the trash?"

"And here I thought you knew me by now." Grif responded, finally sludging out of his sloth-like position on the couch to face prop himself up on his elbows, facing Simmons.

"Doesn't mean I can't hope, Grif. Doesn't mean I can't hope." Grif's hair, both curled and always messy, hung in front of his eyes and Simmons could have sworn it was just the lighting that made his dark eyes even bolder behind the lazy curls. Thoughts of what happened around the time Grif first arrived unwelcoming sprung to the front of his mind, and and he bit the inside of his mouth to keep from reacting.

Grif, however, had actually sat up. He stared at Simmons, not understanding the silence but not ignorant of what it meant. Simmons averted his eyes, and Grif spoke.

"You've been avoiding me."

Simmons scoffed. "Can you blame me? i don't sleep around with pigs." He coughed and blushed, catching himself. "I mean- I don't sleep with pigs. Not in that way, or any other way. I don't bang animals."

Grif chuckled. "Nice save."

He glared at Grif and turned to leave. Grif pushed the curls out of his face, less bleary but just as tired. That same smirk as before , the one in the kitchen, crossed his face. "Is it because of that?"

"I don't know what you’re talking about."

"I think you do."

"Listen can we just stop and get to what you obviously want to hear?"

Grif furrowed his brow in confused amusement. "And what's that?"

Simmons sat down, and faced Grif. "I.."

"Yes?"

Simmons coughed again, and then looked annoyed. "I changed my mind. You don't need to hear it."

"For God's sake, man-"

Simmons moved himself closer to Grif, put their face just inches in front of between each other.

"Uh."

"Just, don't tell anyone okay?" He placed a hand on Grif's face, and gently ran his fingers against the stubble. Despite how it pricked his fingertips, he slowly cupped Grif's face with his hands.

'Is this happening?' Grif thought, and felt even more confused as he realized just how soft Simmons fingers were. He knew what they were like, hell, he had them in his mouth. But the way he placed his palms against Grif's jaw, carefully gripped his face...

He closed his eyes and let Simmons press their lips together.

It didn’t release any floodgates, no tension was suddenly let go in the throes of whatever this was. Ever so slowly, Grif put his hand on the back of Simmons head and let his other elbow hold him up on the couch. His lips were even softer than his fingers, and despite all the ways Grif could manipulate this situation he felt an overwhelming restriction, like if he even looked too hard at Simmons he would shatter. Simmons hands still gripped Grif’s face, his thumbs running themselves over Grif’s cheeks absentmindedly. There was some urge, but it didn’t surface, and they softly kissed each other under the sweet beats of a long dead musical group. Eventually, Simmons pulled away from Grif, and they tried to calm their breathing. Grif looked up at Simmons, who had moved himself nearly on top of Grif. Simmons only saw Grif’s eyes widen as he looked up before-

“God, you’re beautiful.”

And it all came crashing down on both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter, you'll have what you all come here for. In other news, I absolutely love indie rock and Grimmons.  
> Tune in next time for the ever so famous "Well, I can tell you what we weren't doing..." holy grail chapter.


	3. Small Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, I can tell you what we weren't doing."
> 
> (And honestly, that's all you need to hear to know what this is about.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did it i can't believe it  
> i'd like to thank the academy

Friendship, Grif decided, was a complicated subject. This is especially so when the person you’re supposed to be friends with can’t seem to stand you most of the time, and you’re slowly realizing how attached to them you’ve become. 

If God had laughed when Grif was stationed at Blood Gulch, then he was rolling by the time he met Simmons. 

Grif gritted his teeth. It would be bad enough if he just had to deal with Sarge’s not-so-vague death threats and Donut’s personality (which to Grif didn’t even seem real, but like a bad book report on an early work of Sigmund Freud). 

Simmons was something else. He wasn’t quite the knockout, what with the lanky body shape and recent robotic surgeries only adding to the nerdiness. Most of the time, the talking they got up to ended with insults and death threats. But he was funny, when it was late at night and Simmons just couldn’t take Sarge anymore. The nights where Grif may have tempted Simmons to open the secret alcoholic stash that “probably isn’t legal on a military base” and they’d both be wheezing with laughter while Lopez muted his ears. In between an aching gut and tear-filled eyes Grif would look at Simmons and see Simmons’s toothy grin. And Grif would feel something that wouldn’t leave him in the morning. 

It only got worse from there. Simmons remembered what happened, he just doesn’t care. 

So why was Simmons closer to him than he ever was before? Even when they’re both armoured, it would happen. Simmons stood closer to Grif, prefered to face his whole body to Grif when they bickered, subconsciously took a step forward when it turned into legitimate arguing. They had only kissed once, but they had been so close to it so many times that Grif wanted to shout. 

He already understood the many levels of confusion that this would add to his feelings, but the tension was getting to be too much. In the back of his head, Grif knew that this was partly his fault, that giving your teammate's fingers a blowjob isn’t the best way to get back at them. He had just never anticipated any reciprocation. 

At this rate, Grif wouldn’t last another year at this Godforsaken base. Something has to be done.  
\--------------

Lopez had considered murder before. It wasn’t very surprising, what with the company he had to endure at Blood Gulch. The amount of times he did think about smashing everyone’s head in with a rock just blended in with his personality. 

So when Lopez shot around Simmons’s head as he paced, Simmons took it as a sign that he was paying attention.

He turned on his heel and continued to rant. “Not just that, but he’s so vague and thick. It’s like, I try to talk to the prick but the only language he understands is food or yelling.”

Lopez stopped shooting. “[You’re not going to stop talking, are you?]”

“My thoughts exactly. God, I could just throttle the guy, and don’t even get me started on his work ethic-”

“[I wouldn’t feel any remorse after killing you.]”

Simmons stopped walking, his mind caught on a memory of Grif’s face. He had never really seen Grif with such a strange expression. He gulped. “Well, he’s not always bad.”

“[None at all.]”

Simmons looked down at his feet and thought he could hear that slow indie rock yet again. Wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth complementing blushing bronzed skin, he remembered how surprised they both were when Simmons laid on top of Grif and kissed him. He thought about how in any other universe that never would have happened. Thought about how much he wanted it to happen again. 

Lopez went to re-aim his pistol when Simmons briskly left the base.  
\------------

There’s no doubt that this is a predicament for both soldiers. Tension can only push and pull so far between two people until something gives. Which means that the best way to relieve that tension is to put those two people together and let them work it out on their own or sit in awkward silence. 

As the warthog cruised along, Grif and Simmons sat in awkward silence. Grif listed off the types of evils he could have committed in a past life that would have warranted this type of torture. Meanwhile Simmons acted as if driving was the most important thing in the world right now and all of his attention was staying on the road that didn’t actually exist. Eventually, they started glancing at each other, shifted in their seats slightly. Simmons cleared his throat, tried to speak up. “Nice weather.” 

Grif blinked behind his helmet, and started laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” Grif continued laughing, getting more hysterical.

“Have you finally lost it? What are you laughing at?” Simmons got irritated, gripped the wheel tightly. Grif was going into a coughing fit, laughter mixing in with wheezing. 

“This, man.” Grif calmed himself down, relaxed in his seat. “I can’t believe I’m this stupid.” 

“Neither can I.”

Grif stared at Simmons. “You know I’m in love with you, right?” 

Grif rocketed out of his seat as Simmons slammed both feet on the brakes. 

“Jesus Christ! You could have killed me!” 

“Say that again.” 

Grif looked and saw Simmons staring right back at him. “You heard right,” Grif’s throat was suddenly dry, “I’m in love with you.”

Simmons looked frozen, and Grif cursed himself for being so bold. Dread set in his brain, this would be the point where Simmons would awkwardly explain himself away, or would think it was some creepy joke. He tried to form some comebacks in his brain when Simmons shut off the engine and took off his helmet. “Simmons?”

Simmons rested his hands in his lap and stared at them. “Do you really mean that?”

“I-I think so,” Grif stuttered, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, just wasn’t sure if I should tell y-” 

Simmons interrupted him. “Take off your helmet.” His heart leapt, and he fumbled with his helmet. Simmons moved out of his seat and sat closer to Grif as he removed his own helmet. There it was again, that expression. He looked shocked, and nervous, but Simmons noticed only the dark blush spread on his face and gold eyes that burned hotter than red base in the afternoon. He reached and held Grif’s chin up lightly, making Grif face him. “Grif?”

“Yeah?” There faces were too close again, they could almost feel each other’s breath hit them. 

“I think I love you too.” The space between their faces closed. In the back recesses of his mind, Simmons recognized indie music playing lowly through the car’s radio. Grif wrapped his arms around Simmons, pulled him as close as possible despite their armor. Simmons hands tangled themselves in Grif’s hair, and let himself lay back as they kissed each other. The armor quickly became uncomfortable as the sun beat down on both of them. Grif pulled back, gasping for air. 

“Can you move the warthog? We’re going to get heat stroke.”  
\---------------

In the shade, Grif and Simmons had struggled and finally threw off their armor. Simmons arms hung loosely over Grif’s shoulders as Grif held him as close as he could. Their legs tangled together, kicking and hitting the warthog’s doors while Grif memorized what Simmons’s mouth tasted like. Simmons let his head spin and pressed his hands into the other man’s back. Grif let out a small noise as Simmons pushed his thigh into Grif’s groin. He pressed harder and felt Grif’s hands run down his back to cup his ass. Grif shifted, angled his hips closer to Simmons, and ground down. Simmons let out a strangled groan and realized how hard he actually was. Grif smirked, and ground into Simmons’s crotch harder, relishing in how his legs stretched when he pushed back into Grif. He moved his mouth to Simmons neck, lightly kissing and sucking on the soft skin. Simmons gasped, hips twitched as Grif kept grinding him into the seat. When Grif sucked behind his earlobe, Simmons whined. 

Grif chuckled. “Sensitive~” He scraped his teeth on the taut skin, making Simmons squirm.

“G-grif...” Simmons was breathing hard as he reached a hand down into his pants. Grif rushed to unbuckle their pants, taking a second to grope Simmons’s cock through his underwear, making him moan. He almost tore Simmons’s underwear trying to get then off his hips, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. 

“Let me help you with that.” He slid down, pulling up Simmons shirt and kissing his hips gently.

Simmons bit his lip, “Grif, please-” Grif licked a long stripe up his shaft and Simmons cried out involuntarily. He gripped Grif hair as Grif lightly licked his tip, then slowly started sucking on it. It was obvious from the very start that Grif was good at this, but Simmons never imagined he would be this sensitive. His tongue pressed itself hard against his cock as he took it into his mouth as much as he could, taking one hand to grip the rest. Simmons’s hips bucked and he couldn’t stop saying Grif’s name. Grif’s other hand rubbed his own cock, Simmons’s small noises building him up. He stared up at Simmons face, watching him shut his eyes and moan as he got closer to the edge. Grif twisted his hand, feeling his own cock tighten and quickened his pace on Simmons’s cock. “Grif, please, I can’t, fuck, Grif...” Panting, Simmons arched his back and begged until he couldn’t take anymore and came in Grif’s mouth. Grif came a few seconds later to the sound of Simmons moaning his name. 

They laid gasping for a few minutes before trying to clean up. They got back in their stuffy armor when Simmons tried the turn on the engine and found that it wouldn’t start. 

“Oh no.” He tried the key a few more times while Grif adjusted his helmet. 

“Don’t tell me; the car is dead.” 

Simmons sighed and leaned his forehead on the wheel. “Yep. We’re going to have to walk back.”

Grif sighed back. “That sucks. But hey,” he clapped his hand on Simmons’s shoulder, “at least the weather’s nice.”  
They would continue laughing until they got back to red base.


End file.
